


free to be a father

by imaginarybarista



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Father's Day, Fluff, It's not a compeition, Kid!Fic, M/M, but Harry does breakfast in bed and Louis' got to have a good gift, future!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:50:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1796113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginarybarista/pseuds/imaginarybarista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis and Harry, 2020, and a baby.</p><p>[I'm a sap, extra fluffiness brought on my father's day and me imaging lourry as parents.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	free to be a father

**Author's Note:**

> Because the song free by bastille has the lines   
> 'I wanna make a million dollars  
> I wanna live out by the sea  
> Have a husband and some children  
> Yeah, I guess I want a family'  
> and i'm a sap who used it in the title.

_June 21, 2020:_

 

“This isn’t a fucking competition, Harold.”

 

“Watch your mouth!”

 

“She’s six weeks old, she doesn’t know what I’m saying!”

 

“Babies’ brains grow--”

 

“The fastest in the first three years, and language skills develop in the first five years, I know, I know.”

 

“So don’t make these widdle ears hear foul language, Tomlinson.” Harry’s voice drops into a coo and he strokes the tiny shell of his daughter’s ear as he leans over her crib.

 

In another age Louis might’ve rolled his eyes and kept up an argument, then kiss Harry to make up for pushing his buttons. But tonight the soft smile on his face betrays his true emotions. His own finger brushes over Letty’s soft cheek, knuckles bumping into Harry’s.

 

At the touch Harry breaks his gaze from the baby to look up at Louis, who makes himself look away from the tiny fingers and tiny nose and little pout and look at Harry. The dumb grin on his face is probably being mirrored right back, but Louis doesn’t even care.

 

On an impulse Harry leans in close enough to peck Louis’s cheek before he draws back and lowers his eyes again. The baby curls up one of her hands into a fist and it punches out, hitting the soft yellow duck she sleeps with. “She’s our’s.”

 

Louis reaches down to tuck the duck closer to Violet. “I know.”

 

They both quietly watch the baby sleep. She makes spit bubbles and whimpering noises and wiggles her legs before she settles again. She has her parents completely enamored.

 

Half an hour later when Louis’ finally coaxed Harry away and out of the nursery, he’s got Harry sitting on the edge of the bed. He’s standing between Harry’s legs, lifting the hem of his t-shirt up. “Up,” he says, quietly. Saying everything quietly has become second nature. The art of the tiptoe and quiet padding around was useful in the middle of the night if he didn’t want to wake Harry up. Now it’s a skill they’ve both brushed up on, a part of their schedule now. Between seven and three, the tv is on a low volume, Harry and Louis use quiet voices, and when they make love they hold in all but the quietest groans while the monitor crackles on the nightstand table.

 

Harry lifts his arms up and lets Louis lift his shirt off. Louis, in only pajama trousers himself, runs a hand over Harry’s unstyled mop. Harry closes his eyes as Louis runs his nails over the back of Harry’s neck. It’s a trick he learned ages ago, one of Harry’s favorite massage spots. “You’re really good at this, y’know?”

 

His eyes still shut, Harry’s lips curve into a smile and he dips his head down a little. “You sure you want to be complimenting me? While ago you were reminding me that this isn’t a competition.”

 

Louis lets out a chuckle. (Quietly, of course, and he presses his lips into the warm skin of Harry’s shoulder, kisses right above 17BLACK.)

 

“That’s because you were being a giant dork. You got up and did my turn to do the three o’clock nappy change and feeding, plus made me fancy toast in bed, and you got me a fuckin’ Hallmark card.”

 

Harry opens his eyes. Raises an eyebrow. Loops an arm around Louis’s waist and leans back, tugging Louis on top of him onto the bed. Their faces inches apart, Harry just smiles at Louis. “Had to mark an important occasion.”

 

His breath tickles and Louis leans in even closer so that their noses bump. His hands are braced on Harry’s chest, trapped between them, moving up and down evenly with Harry’s breaths. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Louis matches Harry’s smirk before kissing the man he loves, then gently rolls off so that he and Harry are lying together on the bed, sides pressed together. He brushes Harry’s hand with his fingers so that Harry flips his palm and they can hold hands, and nuzzles into Harry’s bicep.

 

“It was sweet, you know.”

 

Harry’s hand tightens for a second. “Wanted you to feel special. And Vi’s too little to do anything.”

 

Their breaths are matched, the only noise over the whisper of the baby monitor.

 

“Thank you. But I meant it earlier.”

 

Harry’s tone lightens. “What, about it not being a contest?”

 

“Yeah,” answers Louis. “I wanted to remind you... before I gave you something.”

 

Harry shifts to lay on his side and still hold Louis’s hand. “You didn’t have to do anything.”

 

“Oh, shut it Harold,” he says as he untangles their hands and sits up to spring off the bed. Harry watches as Louis lopes over to the bureau, bends a little to rifle through his drawer. Their drawer, really, all the laundry mixed up together. They know who prefers which pair of boxers or briefs and they can choose when to acknowledge such preferences. He smiles a little. Louis’s changed so much from the first day they met: new lines around his eyes, hair shorter but more ruffled, new tattoos. Some things never change though. He’s barefoot, and in the middle of June his skin positively glows, despite the overcast weather. He’s still got a tan even though he and Harry cancelled their May vacation to the coasts of France and Portugal. Harry’s in the middle of appreciating his husband’s tanned, toned back (why the hell backs are sexy to him, who knows) when Louis finds what he’s looking for and turns around. Harry could tell Louis’s caught him by the quick eye roll, but that doesn’t stop Louis from climbing back into bed, poking Harry so that he sits up with him.

 

Harry pushes against the memory foam and arranges the pillows so he can lean against them. Louis crawls over so he can snuggle into Harry’s chest. It’s been a few nights since he’s gotten to hold Louis, the last few nights they’ve both been exhausted and fallen asleep with just an arm across the other’s chest or sharing a pillow. He’s feeling a bit drowsy from pulling extra weight the night before, but this is worth it. To have Louis a little more awake, coming to cuddle him. He cards his fingers through Louis’s hair as Louis pushes a small wrapped parcel into his lap. “What’s this?”

 

“You aren’t the only one who knows what today is, Harold. I just waited to shower you with gifts, and if you play your cards right, sexual favors.”

 

Harry doesn’t bite back a smile as he slides a finger under the tape and pulls paper away, letting it fall to the carpet next to the bed. He’s holding a little white book, which has “DAD,” “Papa,” and “father” along with other variations written on it in black letters, the font and direction of each word changed.

 

He opens it to the first page, and feels a lump grown in his throat. It’s a picture with him and Louis together, both sporting five o’clock shadows, leaning together with a little bundle in between them in a hospital room. 10-5-20 is scratched out underneath the photo. The next few photos are of Violet on her own: sleeping in the backseat of the Range Rover on the way home, sucking on her ring and pinky fingers on the soft pink blanket from Gemma, wrapped up like a burrito in her crib with the duck snuggled next to her, looking giant next to the infant.

 

Then the pictures all start featuring Harry. “Vi and Daddy, 10-5-20.” Letty’s head sort of resembles a wrinkled pea, reddish pink.

 

“Daddy and Violet, 30-5-20.” The baby’s got a light fuzzy down on her head and she’s completely naked, a proud Harry clutching a tiny onesie in one giant hand and the baby cradled in his other arm.

 

The next is only a week and a half old, dated 10-6-20. “One month old!” She’s already a little plumper than a few weeks prior, but is far less wrinkled and is staring straight as the camera as Harry gazes down fondly at her, safely ensconced in his arms.

 

The next picture has the caption “18-6-20” and Harry doesn’t recognize the outfit his daughter is wearing. She’s on her back, the duck making a reappearance as it’s tucked under arm. She’s smiling--  _so precious_ , Harry thinks to himself, before focusing back on the photo. Her little legs have the wrinkles around the knees that babies’ tend to have and she has what Harry fondly refers to as baby butt, where the little onesie is baggy around her little waist but tight across the bulge of the nappy she has on. Despite its bagginess, the letters on the onesie are still legible. It looks hand painted. “I love my #1 Papa!” is written on it in puffy fabric paint. Harry snorts and tries to resist the urge to grab Louis and snog the hell out of him. He gets to the next picture and then has to resist crying. It’s Louis’s first appearance in the album. He’s got a huge grin on his face, but he’s not looking at the camera. He’s only got eyes for Violet, who he’s lifting up above him so that her back’s to the camera. Louis’s hands are carefully bracing Vi, but don’t cover up the words painted onto the back of her onesie. “I love my #1 Daddy!”

 

“How the heck did you get these?”

 

“You offered to pick up new nappies. My mum was over, she helped me. She made it, you know, then helped me get the pictures and then we changed her again quick before you got home.”

 

“Lou...”

 

“Harold Styles, you cannot cry right now,” Louis’s voice has a warning tone but it also sounds choked up. “You aren’t the only one who can do a good father’s day gift.” He’s quiet for a few seconds. “Our baby gets double lucky you know. She gets you, and you’re twice the dad either of us had.” Harry’s quiet for a second, arms wrapped around Louis, who’s sitting against his chest between his legs, sunk low enough for Harry to rest his chin on top of Louis’s head. He sniffles and Louis turns in his arms to lightly punch him in the chest.

 

“Cut it out.”

 

Harry just bites his lip, then leans in. Louis meets him halfway, pursed lips, and they exchange the softest of kisses, eyelids fluttering shut. Just as Louis’s jaw is dropping just enough to suck on Harry’s upper lip, a quiet noise crackles out of the monitor. It grows to a few sobs and Louis sighs, biting on Harry’s lip before drawing back. Harry’s eyes are squeezed shut and he reluctantly opens them. He tilts his head back. “Letty’s timing.”

 

Louis purses his lips in agreement. “Love you.” He swoops in, smacks a kiss to Harry’s cheek, and shuffles off the bed to go comfort his daughter.

In the nursery, he flicks the lamp in the corner on before he scoops her up, and she continues to wail. She gets a little quieter as he starts bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, letting her cry it out. He tickles her cheek and she stops for a moment, eyes wide. Her lip wobbles and Louis’s quick to reach into her crib to grab the duck, before he sits down in the rocker and holds her close. “Sssh, baby, sssh...”

 

Louis checks the wall clock. It’s only nine, which means she just must’ve woken herself up. She does this occasionally. Normally she’s out like a light around seven, needs fed at eleven sometimes, fed and changed around two, and then she wakes up at six or seven again, when she stays up until a nap around one. She should be asleep again in a few minutes, if Louis rocks her and maybe sings.

 

He opts for talking to her tonight. “Hey, little Letty, who’s a good girl? You look so sweet in your special onesie now, didn’t you? Did your auntie help us surprise Daddy? He was so surprised, little pea, huh snuggle bug?” Half the time Louis doesn’t know what he’s saying. Is it bad to talk nonsense to your baby? If Harry won’t let him curse, how is baby talk acceptable? It’s not like she’s learning any vocabulary yet. She’s just got this hold on him, when he’s looking down he’s got this overwhelming urge to blow raspberries on her little baby belly and call her dumb names as she grows more adorable by the second. Her eyes are still wide open, but she’s no longer crying. Her cheeks are a little wet, but she’s now just slurping quietly on her two preferred fingers, staring at Louis.

 

“You’re lucky, you little parrot. Daddy loves you _so_  much, you know. Did you know he wrote me a card today? Just because we have you, you little lemon drop. And he made me toast. Aaaand he made sure you got a fresh nappy last night so I didn’t have to get up. You have a daddy who loves you so much, baby. And I love you and him so much. More than...” he racks his memory. What did his mom use to tell him? “More than there are stars in the sky. And trees on earth. And when you’re a little older maybe you’ll understand what I’m actually saying,” he rushes out. The baby responds by blinking at him sleepily, eyes getting closer and closer to being fully shut.

 

He takes her in for a minute, how big she seems since six weeks ago but still so little. “For now though, I think that since you’re sleeping, you must be comfy and safe and warm and somewhere in that sleepy little mind of your’s you know I love you, huh, baby?” He presses a kiss to her forehead, gently easing himself out of the rocker. It’s the kind of chair that has a rocking ottoman with it, which he deftly avoids as he silently moves over to the crib, reaching for the light switch as he does. With a practiced ease-- he’s been handling babies for decades now, good Lord-- he oh so gently sets Violet down, cradling her head. He doesn’t stay long in her room this time, watching her sleep. He has a husband to get back to.

 

He gets back to the room, expecting the bedside light to be on and Harry slumped in bed, sleeping, but instead he gets a surprise. (Again. Harry never ceases to amaze.) The light is off, but a few candles are lit around the room. Harry’s sitting wide awake in bed, propped with his back against the headboard, legs crossed in front of him. He’s the picture of casual.

 

“Candles?”  _You're kind of wonderful,_ Louis wants to tell him.

 

Harry beams, he looks proud. “Louis, we’ve known each other for ten years. Can’t expect me to not try to impress you just because we’re old married codgers.”

 

Louis just wishes he were naked. He’s a little surprised that Harry isn’t, and says as much. “I love the romantic setting babe, and I’d love to pick up where we left off, but you’re actually wearing pants.”

 

Harry pretend to scoff. “You wound me. I want to woo you, Louis Tomlinson, give me a chance to kiss you and hold you and not just jump to getting each other off. It’s called romance, Tommo, and it’s not dead.”

 

Louis grins and snaps the waistband on his own pants. “Okay, then.” He crosses the room and vaults onto the bed so that he’s straddling Harry’s legs. “Woo away.”

 

“You know that your cheekbones look... divine, in this light, you know? The candlelight...” Harry’s thumb comes up to brush across Louis’s cheekbone, which is highlighted in the shadowy light. Louis actually feels his cheeks heat up. Flattery works wonders. It might be that he’s vain, or that he and Harry haven’t slept together in over a week, or maybe that he just loves this man and his voice, crackly in a half-whisper.

 

He reaches his hands up to cradle Harry’s face. He’s got it committed to memory, could trace the lines in his sleep. Instead he leans in to press their foreheads together.

 

“I heard you, y’know.”

 

“When?” Louis slides his hands down to Harry’s shoulders, kneads them a little.

 

“On the monitor. I heard you talking to Violet.”

 

“Oh.” Louis lets his hands slide down to Harry’s stomachs, feels his abs contract. Harry’s rubbing his back and it feels good, his hands on his bare skin. Just simple touches like this get to him. Louis’ always been tactile, handsy. Having it returned makes him feel loved. Harry’s hands are huge and warm and feel gentle and amazing and Louis lets his hands drift lower, holding onto Harry’s hips, fingers slipping beneath his waistband.

 

Harry’s whispering now. “Yeah. It’s why I’m wearing pants. I’ll let you take ‘em off in just a minute, but I wanted to get a chance to tell you thank you first. Thank you for loving me and loving Violet and being such a good dad and good husband and--” His voice, slow as usual, speeds up as his words went on before he breaks on a giggle, swatting Louis’s hands away from where they’re tickling his sides. “Okay, fine, fine,” He gives.

 

Louis smirks at him. “I love you too.” He kisses Harry. “Now let me take your pants off.”

 

Harry crosses his hands behind his head and lifts his hips.

 

Five minutes later, he’s completely naked with his lithe and tanned husband on top of him. This is the life. He’s not even remotely tired anymore, he’s got his hands _exactly_  where he wants them, and is making out with an attractive man who he gets to raise a daughter with. Bliss.

 

Five more minutes, and he’s burying his face in the pillow to muffle himself.

 

When Louis finally’s in him, he’s back on his back and Louis has one hand on his thigh and another cupping his cheek. They’re both flushed and sweaty, breathing hard, and Louis’s stopped moving.

 

“C’mon,” Harry urges. He squeezes Louis’s ass, making him choke out a pitched “Ah!” before his hips dip again and Harry groans. “Like that, there,” he gasps out.

 

“There?”

 

“Mmhmm.”

 

The only sound for the next few minutes are their gasps, the sheets moving under Harry, Louis rhythmically shifting. After ten years of knowing Harry, he’s mastered this. Sure, they’ve had incredible, hot, sex; and they’ve always been ones to try new things for a little excitement. But it’s like this-- just simple, fingers digging into Louis’s back as Harry holds him tight, Louis knowing exactly how to move when he’s in deep. It’s Harry looking straight into his eyes and saying _I love you_  that makes Louis nearly collapse over Harry, put his lips where he kissed him earlier, above 17BLACK, let out a guttural moan and come. He’s about to reach down, give Harry a hand, but Harry lets out a low-pitched noise and creams all over Louis’s abs before Louis grabs his face to snog him senseless. When he pulls back long enough to get a breath (ten years after their first kiss and he still gets lightheaded when they make out), Harry shudders. “Wow.”

 

“Mmhmm,” Louis agrees, biting his lip before hiding his face in Harry’s shoulder. Harry reaches out for the sheet, pulling the corner up to wipe between his legs and over his stomach, getting Louis’s abs too before he throws that bit of the sheet over the bed. He’s got laundry to do tomorrow anyways.

 

Louis knows it’s love when Harry carefully eases them to the other side of the bed, presses their damp skin close enough together that they only take up half the bed and avoid the wet spot. “Get some sleep,” he murmurs into Louis’s neck. The room’s dark, candles close to flickering out.

 

“Love you.” Louis catches the bright green light on the monitor on the side table before he lets his eyes close. He grabs ahold of Harry’s fingers from where Harry has an arm draped over his waist and twists them with his own.

 

“Love you more.”


End file.
